Authors: A. L. Jambor
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and scenes are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely unintentional.
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Cover design by Amy Jambor
This book is dedicated to my Hansel.
He gave me wings and let me fly.
I want to thank my good friend, Loraine O’Connell, for all her help. She did the first edit on my manuscript. Any mistakes in the text are mine and mine alone. Loraine’s input has been invaluable to me. For over forty years she has been my best friend, and I look forward to working on my next book with her.
A. L. Jambor
Table of Contents
The Capital Beltway, Maryland
Jeff Greenway looked in the rearview mirror of the limousine. Horace Bagley was asleep. Jeff sighed. When he picked up the old man that morning, he had taken his wife’s Infiniti because Horace Bagley had lost everything he owned, including his regular automobiles. The limo was the only vehicle he had left, and that was due to be picked up later that day. Horace had asked Jeff to drive him into Washington in the limo one last time. The request pissed him off, but Jeff had agreed out of respect for the old man.
His colleagues at the firm called it the “Pope Mobile” due to the safety features Horace had installed during the nuclear protests three years earlier. The glass was bulletproof and the interior was sealed from front to back to keep out smoke or gas. Horace hadn’t taken any chances in those days. Since the government had shut down his power plants, the threats against Horace’s life had dwindled. It didn’t matter, anyway. They had taken everything from him, including the Pope Mobile.
Horace had owned 10 power plants that had supplied energy to most of the Eastern seaboard. He was a millionaire several times over, but when one of his older plants nearly melted down causing a chain reaction in several other plants, and the country rallied to have them shut down. Horace had lobbied hard to keep his plants going, but in the end, the government chose to err on the side of caution. After all, it was an election year.
The government gave a generous tax break to those people willing to install alternate forms of power generation in their homes and businesses. The program proved so successful, that most of the citizens were able to sell back power to beleaguered energy companies nationwide. Everyone seemed to benefit from the program, everyone but Horace Bagley.
Following the shutdown of his power plants, the government audited poor Horace and found many questionable deductions on his tax returns. When all was said and done, everything he owned had to be sold.
His wife of ten years, Trixie, an exotic dancer 50 years his junior, left him a week before the government audit began, taking her jewelry with her to Rio. She had also taken her Swedish masseuse, Sven.
Now Horace was on his way to Washington to beg the government for one last thing. He wanted to keep his house in Maine, the house he and his first wife Ginny had purchased when they got married. His children had been born there, and Ginny had died there. Surely they would understand how important the residence was to Horace, an old, broken man with nowhere to go, wouldn’t they?
Jeff was sure the government would tell Horace to go pound salt, but when the old man called the day before asking Jeff for his assistance, he couldn’t say no. It would have to be pro bono as Horace truly had no money left. Jeff had to put gas in the limo to get into town.
Horace had a one o’clock appointment with an old friend of his, Senator Crawley. It was just past noon, and they were making good time. As Jeff rounded the beltway, he could see traffic stopped ahead. He slowed the limo to a crawl before stopping completely.
The limo stopping hadn’t disturbed Horace’s nap. There were teenagers in the car ahead of them. They had gotten out of their car and were playing grab ass in the street. Jeff smiled, remembering what it was like to be seventeen and have your whole life ahead of you.
There was a young mother in the car next to him. She got out her car and put her young son on the hood, so he could see over the traffic ahead. She kept her arm around him. There was a biker on a Harley Davidson. He had tattoos covering his arms and neck. Jeff checked the locks on the limo to make sure they were down.
A half hour had passed and Jeff was getting anxious about the time. He took out his cell phone and called the Senator’s office, advising them that Horace would be late. He explained the situation, and the secretary said she would speak to the Senator and call if they could see Horace at a later time.
Jeff began absent-mindedly tapping the steering wheel. He was looking at the teenage girl as she teased the boy mercilessly. She had a tee-shirt on that hugged her young, nubile breasts. Her jeans were tight, and Jeff began to fantasize about her cute, little butt.
The sun was hot, and even though the air conditioning was still running, Jeff thought about opening a window for some fresh air. It was the end of June, and Washington was hot. Jeff wished he had taken off his suit jacket before getting into the car.
He took off his seat belt. The radio announcer was talking about an early hurricane that should hit the west coast of Florida. It was a big one. Jeff made a mental note to call his parents in Tampa.